


My Heart Isn't In It

by nerddowell



Series: Stories From The Dance Hall [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4358816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/nerddowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I go to parties, I go to dances</em>
  <br/>
  <em>But my heart isn't in it</em>
</p><p>A Stucky pre-war one-shot based on the song My Heart Isn't In It by Gwen Tynes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart Isn't In It

**Author's Note:**

> So I downloaded three albums (303 songs!) of 30s & 40s big band/dance hall hits, and I decided to start writing Stucky one shots based on them. This is the first of what will undoubtedly be many.
> 
> Enjoy!

The girls were decked out in satin and pearls, lips and cheeks rouged to perfection, dark eyelashes batting at him, and he smiled and took them by the arm. He's a gentleman; he knew what was expected of him, and he'd always loved to give a girl a good time, take her out dancing and treat her to a drink, maybe give her a kiss at the end of the night if she's still sweet on him (and they always were). He'd go dancing with the girls, then come home to Steve and tell him all about it, maybe more than he should - more than was strictly gentlemanly in some cases - as he pulled off his dress shoes, unbuttoned his suit jacket and washed the pomade out of his hair before flopping into bed next to him.

He knew Steve always waited up for him on the nights they weren't out on double dates; his friend lived vicariously through Bucky when it came to socialising, because God knows there wasn't a girl they'd yet found in Brooklyn who'd give Steve the time of day. Bucky thought it was a crying shame; Steve just gave him that wry shrug, grinned and made some self-deprecating joke that made him roll his eyes fondly and shake his head. _Ain't a thing wrong with you, Steve_ , he'd answer. _And it ain't no fault a yours the dames don't see it, neither._

"I don't need a dame, Barnes," Steve would tease him, leaning on Bucky's chest and batting his eyelashes like a girl trying to flirt with the dance hall fella who'd caught her eye, "I got you at home tellin' me how pretty I am."

Bucky laughed and shoved him off, and Steve grinned, throwing the pillow at his head. "C'mon, you big lug, go to sleep. You gotta be up for the docks tomorrow."

"Yes, ma." Bucky rolled his eyes, and Steve snorted, flipping over in bed and settling himself down. A couple of moments passed of his preternaturally-wheezy breathing before he huffed out a, "g'night, Buck," and Bucky nodded.

"Night, Stevie."

* * *

They had a double date the next night, a pair of pretty girls - a blonde for Bucky, with bright blue eyes and a bright red-lipped smile, and a shyer, green-eyed brunette for Steve. They took them to the dance hall, where Bucky ended up being the one to spin each girl out onto the floor for a swing, feet knowing all the right steps the way Steve never seemed to be able to, sometimes singing along with the band, sometimes just laughing and smiling as the girls joined in. He was charming, and attentive, and both of the girls were sweet as sugar on him and his devil-may-care smile as he led them out time and again. Steve found himself watching Bucky more than the girls, the familiar twist of envy - always brief, and always weak - in his chest. It wasn't that he begrudged Bucky the girls' attentions, not in the least; he was patient, and he trusted that some day he'd find a nice girl - not a bombshell like Bucky seemed to get watching him every time he took a step out of the front door, but a homelier _nice_ girl, an apple-pie girl - who might be happy to settle down with a guy whose kids would probably outgrow him by twelve years old. But he wished he had that charm, that skill at knowing exactly how to talk to a girl to have her putty in his hands.

Bucky ended up hanging around outside the girls' house for a few minutes whilst the blonde kissed him goodnight - and then, moments after she'd shut the door, her friend, too - and he came back to Steve waiting on the street corner with lipstick smudged over his mouth, rubbing it away with the pad of his thumb. He apologised for taking so long saying goodbye - Steve didn't mind - and for Steve's girl overlooking his friend (the way they always did) in favour of himself - again, Steve didn't mind, not really (it was understandable, for all he knew he was _never_ going to understand women) - as he rubbed at his chin with his handkerchief, staining it with red.

"C'mon, Buck, it's no different from every other time."

"I know that, Steve, s'what makes me feel so bad," he confessed guiltily. He took Steve's shoulder. "I don't want you thinkin' I do it on purpose, set you up with girls just to make you watch 'em choose me-" _that stung, no matter how much he knew it was true -_ "I don't want you thinkin' that of me. You know I think you're a swell guy. Any dame would be lucky to have ya, Stevie."

"Any dame who could look past the body of a scrawny kid, you mean," Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I didn't say that-"

"You didn't have ta, Buck. S'what every girl's thinking when she sees me next to you. Thinkin', _what's a man like that doin' with the scrap?_ I got eyes, Buck. I can see it, clear as glass."

"Well, if they think that, they ain't worth your time anyway," Bucky said fiercely, "and you know damn well we're a package deal. I wouldn't go with any dame who didn't appreciate you like I do."

"Careful, Buck," Steve grinned, "you're beginning to sound like a dame yourself. You got a schoolgirl crush, Barnes?"

"I'll give ya _schoolgirl_ , pipsqueak. Kick that ass into next week," he mock-growled, throwing an arm around Steve's shoulders. It made his heart sink a little that Steve didn't shrug it off - laughed, but leant into it all the same - which meant he was down about the girls. Bucky felt like shit - why he was always the one to get the girl when _Steve_ was the real catch to anyone with a brain, with his dry humour and clever eyes and smart mouth, he would never know, but it is what it is. It meant that he got Steve all to himself, anyway, and he wasn't about to complain about that.

* * *

He went dancing almost every night when he could afford it, smiling and cracking jokes, charming the girls - some of them charmed enough to let him have a quick fumble or more, even to bring them home and fuck them in the bedroom with their petticoats pushed up and their panties 'round their ankles as he thrust into them and whispered sweet nothings into their ears - but the more he did it, the more he felt like he was going through the motions. Sure, he liked making a pretty girl blush, liked feeling the jealousy of every guy in the room as he spun her around the floor and pressed up close for a slow number, liked walking her home and getting a kiss goodnight and a flirty smile, but it was getting home to Steve and telling him all about it that he really liked.

He and Steve had been together since they were kids, snot-nosed, cut-up little runts scurrying around Brooklyn streets with too-long bangs and scraped-up knees, playing ball (Steve would often drop it) and climbing the few trees they could find (Steve usually, admittedly, on the ground after that time he fell out of a small elm from a branch three feet off the ground and still broke his arm). Inseparable, from schoolyard to back alley, Bucky chasing off the bigger kids whenever Steve's smart mouth and predilection for playing the hero got him into trouble. It felt like hardly a day passed that he wasn't dragging Steve away from some fight or another, patching him up before his ma could see. Steve even had his own catchphrase - "I had 'im on the ropes!" - which he must've heard five or six times a week. Always when Steve was bleeding from the nose or a split lip. Bucky would roll his eyes and say, "Sure," and cuff him over the head, and they'd leave it at that, Steve radiating silent gratitude and Bucky's arm cast protectively around his skinny shoulders. Bucky became the defensive dog you knew would get sicced on you if he caught you with Steve in a situation he didn't like; half the time, it was probably the threat of a kicking from Bucky that stopped Steve from getting beaten up _twice_ a day.

Sometimes he'd see those kids at the hall, and it'd take all his control not to punch them all over again for hurting Steve. He contented himself with showing them up on the dance floor instead, breaking out his best smiles and most charming manners, and of course the girls would come flocking like a gaggle of adoring geese. He'd pick the prettiest ones and take them out for the next number, watch their guys get jealous, then excuse himself with a "see ya, sweetheart" or two, and head home.

It was one of those evenings he realised that maybe the reason he liked the going home part best was because of the person waiting up for him, not because of the girl he'd just kissed goodnight. He'd had a few fellas turn his head before, but never in a way that he wanted to take them dancing, or to dinner. He'd had a hot, heavy encounter with one of them behind a bar - the guy on his knees, Bucky's hand in his hair and his head thrown back as he groaned into the night air - but never more, and never out in the open. It didn't frighten or disgust him; he knew he wasn't a fairy, and he still liked going with the girls best. But sometimes, there was a guy with the bluest eyes, or the shyest smile, the cleverest hands (he always noticed the hands first; the long-fingered, broad hands), and he'd let them take him home and give them a kiss, let them suck his cock or even let them ride it, panting and gasping his name like a liturgy in Sunday mass (and he prayed seven Hail Marys, the first time he thought that) - but it was never serious, and never more than once.

But some day, he'd fallen for his best friend harder than a lead balloon, and now he could dance with a hundred girls and kiss a hundred more, and he'd still want more than anything else to get home and into Steve's bed and get his arms wrapped around that skinny body to sleep. Steve was always cold at night, without Bucky's layers of muscle and fat to keep him warm - so they'd get around having to stoke up the heating by climbing into bed together and pressing up close. Steve snored in his sleep, but Bucky didn't care. He slept better on those nights than he ever did when they slept apart. Something about holding Steve close to his chest and burying his nose in Steve's hair to fall asleep soothed him like nothing else.

* * *

Steve always woke last - woken after Bucky's alarm by him stretching or climbing out of bed - but woke up quicker. Bucky always needed a good twenty minutes and a cold shower to begin functioning; Steve could just open his eyes and be ready to go. This morning was no different. As Bucky yawned and stumbled into the bathroom, rearranging himself in his shorts (nothing he could do about that; his body liked sleeping next to someone, and, well, he was only human), Steve called "You want eggs, Buck?"

Steve's eggs were to die for, when they could get them. Bucky grunted in assent and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, thanks, pal."

"No trouble," Steve smiled, climbing out of bed and heading for the kitchen. Ten minutes later, toast, eggs and coffee were on the table as Bucky came out still dripping from the shower, buttoning up his shirt collar and with one sock on and the other held in his mouth. Steve smiled fondly and finished doing his shirt for him as he ate his toast and drank his coffee. He let him go long enough to inhale his eggs before grinning and slapping Bucky's back. "Best stir your stumps, Buck, it's almost time for you to go."

Bucky nodded, gulping down the last mouthful of coffee, before leaning his head towards Steve with a mischievous grin.

"What you doin' now?" Steve laughed, finishing his glass of water and taking his meds.

"Waitin' for my goodbye kiss." He tapped his cheek with one finger, laughing. Steve groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Get outta here!"

"Yes sir," Bucky grinned, saluting and grabbing his jacket before walking out the door.

"Jerk," Steve muttered, watching him go with a smile.

"Heard that, you little punk!"

* * *

"You gonna start doing that every morning now?" Steve asked that night after dinner, whilst Bucky washed up the plates and set them on the rack to dry. Bucky looked over his shoulder at him, throwing the dish towel over his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Askin' for a goodbye kiss?" Steve snorted.

He grinned. "Dunno. Does it annoy you?"

"Only so far as your breath is diabolical in the morning," Steve retorted, smirking. Bucky gasped in outrage and rolled up the dishrag, slapping it against Steve's arm with a wounded look.

"Is not!"

"How would you know? You ain't the one smellin' it!"

"You're a punk," Bucky grumbled, smiling. He knew Steve was only teasing; they gelled so well, this was just the kind of thing they always threw at each other. Besides, he always made sure to give his teeth a good scrub in the morning, especially after coffee. This morning he'd been running late; it was the exception, not the norm.

"So you're always telling me. Still. Is this gonna be a thing?"

"Maybe," he said lightly, eyes fixed on Steve's face, waiting for his reaction. He was sure Steve wouldn't strictly _hate_ him for it - the guy didn't have a bone in his body capable of hating anyone - but it could still go sour for him. Steve was watching him with an equally intense gaze, curiosity and something else alight in his eyes.

"Maybe? That a yes or a no?"

"S'a maybe. Depends on you."

"On me?" Steve grinned. "You sure you wanna give me that much power? I might abuse it. Might give you a smacker right on the cheek for everyone to see. Might even wear lipstick for it so you can go to work with a smudge screamin' _Property of Steve Rogers_ on your face."

"Now _that_ sounds like a yes, Rogers."

"And if it is?" Steve said, his voice suddenly soft. Breathy, even. Bucky's heart skipped in his chest.

"Then maybe it will be a thing every morning. How's that sound?"

"Does it have to be on the cheek?" Steve asked, slowly climbing out of his seat. He approached Bucky steadily, eyes teasing, and Bucky gripped the sink rim behind him, trying to steady his breathing. "Or can I kiss you somewhere else? Like maybe... here?"

He pressed his lips gently to Bucky's, soft and chaste. Bucky's eyes drifted shut and his mouth fell slightly open on a shaky exhale - god, how many times he'd kissed girls after dances and never felt this rush of butterflies in his stomach, never been able to kiss them and feel the whole world narrowing just to the connection of their lips against each other's like this - and Steve slipped his tongue into his mouth, hand coming up to tangle in the back of Bucky's hair. He moaned softly, tongue sliding against Bucky's - _Christ, where'd he learn to kiss like this?_ \- before pulling back, still watching Bucky with wide, fond blue eyes.

"You don't have to wait 'til morning to kiss me like that, Stevie. In fact, I'll be awful sore with you if you don't come back here and kiss me like that again _right now_."

"Yes sir," Steve grinned, tangling his fingers in a lock of Bucky's hair to pull him forward and press their lips together again.

"Punk."

"Jerk."


End file.
